


Seeing the beauty in everything

by AlayneBaelish



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, And Sansa is the canvas, F/M, No scheming, No set time or place, Older Man/Younger Woman, Painter / Artist, Painter Petyr Baelish, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlayneBaelish/pseuds/AlayneBaelish
Summary: Sansa loved beauty, expression, happiness, life. She loved books, music, art.
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	Seeing the beauty in everything

**Author's Note:**

> I'm early and impatient again haha, but this is an early birthday present for my friend @kaylas-artistry

Photography was the newest craze, anyone who's anyone was getting it done, all her friends had already gotten there's done but Sansa found them too impersonal. The whole process to having one's photo done was long and dull, and when they came out they looked even worse.

There was no life to them. Everyone in the photos didn't smile, most of the faces she saw looked dead. Sansa loved beauty, expression, happiness, life. She loved books, music, art. Sansa loved to make things, it's why she was a seamstress, and played two instruments, the flute and piano.

So as a treat her parents organised for a professional to have their family portrait done for Sansa's upcoming birthday. When Sansa found out she was excited, over the moon. She agonised for days over what she was going to wear, how she was going to do her hair, and what pose she wanted to be in.

When the day came, when the artist her parents had hired was meant to arrive, the family were in the garden waiting, most of them were waiting impatiently. Ned as well as Arya were tugging uncomfortably at their formal clothes. Sansa looked at them unimpressed and fanned herself with hand in the shade of the tree, keeping her fairer skin out of direct sunlight.

Bran came out of the house with a man following him out, who looked nothing like how Sansa had imagined him. The man wasn't overly tall, clean shaven, clothes immaculate, hair neatly styled and slicked back. And older. He looked closer to her parents age instead her own like she had hoped.

Jon presented a place for the man to sit, and he occupied the only outdoor table and placed down a thick book.

Sansa was expecting him to come out with a big canvas and easel to work from, and she slumped her shoulders disappointed when he opened up his notebook and pulled a pencil out from where he had one tucked behind an ear. "Who's in the shot?" The artist asked no one in particular.

"What's his name?" Arya whisper, asked in their fathers ear but loud enough for Sansa to hear.

"Petyr Baelish, he's supposed to be really good." Ned answered his youngest daughter.

Catelyn was the one to answer Petyr's question, "All of us."

"So, you'll want the women sitting and the men to stand behind," Petyr didn't look up at anyone as he spoke, his pencil was busy working over the page.

"Oh," Catelyn looked to Ned in pleasant amazement and looking for his agreement, "That sounds lovely." Ned nodded to his wife obligingly.

"Any pets?" Petyr asked, disinterested.

"We've got three dogs," Ned answered that time.

"Want them in?" Petyr asked.

"Best not," Catelyn said after barely considering it.

"Okay," Petyr trailed off as his hand worked faster.

"We were thinking of posing in front of the fireplace, " Catelyn tried talking to Petyr again, and she looked to Ned in confusion when Petyr didn't answer for some minutes.

"So here is a number of suggestions, " Petyr started explaining as he invited Catelyn closer to have a look at what he had been doing. "Outside is usually preferable when the weather calls for it, so might I suggest under that tree would make for a good shot, or over by the back porch. If you see here I can work in a fire place," Petyr had done a number of rough sketches and Sansa stepped closer beside her mother to have a look.

There were three sketches, the first was a rough sketch of how the family would situated themselves, with the men standing and the women sitting just as he had mentioned earlier. The second was of the positioning, and just the tree and a few flower beds. And the last one was of a massive fireplace, without any details.

"If not, I can come up with another background if none of the aforementioned pleases you," Petyr finished up.

"How about the night sky? Or space?" Bran asked, unhelpfully.

Petyr shrugged nonchalantly, "If you want."

"Bran don't be silly," Catelyn shook her head unimpressed, than turned to Sansa, tugging her closer, "Sansa this is your present, what do you think?"

That made Petyr look up for the first time, his eyes examining, he looked and took her in, giving Sansa a complete onceover.

Sansa was silent, she was thinking it over. For reasons unknown to her, this didn't feel right. It felt like a business transaction, like the time she tagged along when her friend Myranda got a photo portrait done, and spent most of the time picking out the colour shade for the background. But ultimately in the end it didn't matter because they all came out looking black and white anyway.

"Not this," Sansa looked down dejectedly.

"Sorry dear?" Catelyn didn't hear what Sansa mumbled.

Petyr's ears perked up though, he stood up just that little bit straighter, he heard what Sansa had said and he examined her just that little more closely, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.

"Whatever you think is best, mum." Sansa made sure to smile at her mother before leaving and walking back to the house, she needed to escape all of a sudden.

Sansa was eating her breakfast, later than she usually did but she didn't feel particularly like doing much. Not since Petyr Baelish had taken up temporary residence in their guest wing. It sounded more fancy than it actually was, their guest wing was a term they dubbed the Stark's guest house.

She glared daggers through the open back doors where she could hear Arya, Bran and Rickon were all laughing with Petyr outside on the deck.

Petyr had asked to meet with all the family members individually to get a feel of what everyone looked like, to prepare for the final portrait. Sansa and Ned were the last two remaining that had yet to go out there. All the family was quite surprised by those turn of events, they all thought Sansa would be the first out there considering days leading up to this Sansa was the most enthused.

More days passed by and Sansa had yet to still go out there, she woke late in the night from some tense dreams, but as soon as she awoke she could no longer remember what had disturbed her so much.

Sansa made her way down to the kitchen for a glass of water, and as she was sipping the cool liquid she saw a light shining through the window. She peaked over the sink to get a better look, and to her surprise she saw all the lights still on in the guest wing. Sansa looked down at herself, to make sure she was dressed decently.

Her dressing gown covered her sufficiently enough, and she tugged at her hair to make sure she didn't look like she had a rats nest living in it.

Her slippers made no sound as she walked and she saw through the open blinds that Petyr was in the front room, and from the looks of things he looked as if he'd been awake for days working. She tapped on the window, politely, and Petyr looked up startled but calmed immediately seeing her familiar face looking back at him, and he got up from the floor to let her in.

"Don't mind the mess," Petyr scratched his head, holding the door open as she passed through and shutting it behind them with a small click.

"Is everything alright?" Sansa asked, relatively concerned for someone she barely knew.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that," Petyr discerned.

"Can I make you some tea perhaps?" Sansa asked another question seemingly not having heard him, she looked around to see scattered paper lying everywhere, all over every surface, including the couch.

"If I drink anymore I may piss myself," Petyr said.

Sansa faced him, shocked.

The corner of Petyr's mouth rose with amusement, "Kidding."

"Do you speak so candidly with everyone you've just met?" Sansa still couldn't believe her ears.

"Only with someone so pretentious," Petyr said with a raised eyebrow.

Sansa crossed her arms, and mimicked his posture and raised her own eyebrow, "Pretentious?" Sansa took in the ragged clothes and the ink stains on his fingers as well as on his clothes, his day old scruff and his messy hair, his overall demeanour, he looked as if he hadn't had a decent wash in days, "I'm surprised a vagrant such as yourself knows what such a big word like that even means."

Petyr's amusement was high, he was resisting the urge to laugh, he was having so much fun, "I'm no hobo."

"Why else would my parents set you up with a place to live for... months?" Petyr nodded, letting Sansa know she had guessed right.

"Only the most pretentious clients set something like this up for me." Petyr told her truthfully.

"Why?" Sansa asked curiously.

Petyr shrugged, not knowing what how to answer that, he had no idea what went through everyone's minds.

"More money for you I guess," Sansa mentioned observantly.

Petyr's smiled smugly, nodding again as she guessed rightly.

Petyr stepped over his work scattered on the floor and pushed papers off the couch to make some room, "I could do with a break. You want a drink?" He asked, offering her a place to finally sit.

Sansa smiled more warmly towards him, "Sure." Her voice sounding softer.

When Petyr came back in the room with two mugs, he handed one to Sansa, receiving a pleasant thank you and she took a sip without looking at its contents. Petyr laughed when she instantly started coughing as the drink burned her throat, "What is that?"

"Bourbon," Petyr took a hefty swing of his own, watching Sansa over the rim of his mug, "What, you expecting tea or something?"

"Yes, actually." Sansa took another sip, and it caused more coughing.

"You're supposed to sip it," He informed her unhelpfully.

"I am!" Sansa exclaimed frustrated.

"Give it," Petyr got up snatching up her mug as he did so, and returned moments later, handing it back. "Better?" he asked, settling down again.

Sansa took another sip and found this time she liked the taste more, "Yes, thank you. What did you do?" Sansa took another happy swing.

"Just added some milk," Petyr told her, taking another drink of his own.

Sansa was feeling pleasantly warm, with the booze resting comfortably in her stomach and with calmness of her surroundings. Sansa hummed as she took another drink and looked up to see Petyr was watching her, and had been for some time, he looked at her fascinated. "Yes?" Sansa suddenly felt uncomfortable.

Petyr cleared his throat suddenly, catching himself. He poured himself some more bourbon, offering some to Sansa who politely declined. "So how do you envision your portrait?" He suddenly asked.

"Mine?" She asked.

"Yes, it's for you isn't it. A gift, your parents said as much. So how do you see it?"

"I don't know," Sansa was looking at him strangely, wondering why he was asking her when he was the artist, "It's your art we're paying for."

" _Noo_ , you're not." Petyr turned bitter. Sansa looked at him confused.

"I'm just the hand that's making your vision come to fruition, and if it's not perfectly how _you_ imagined it you refuse payment," Petyr was getting more resentful by the second.

It was beginning to dawn on Sansa why nothing had felt right from the first moment she had met him, art was meant to be an expression, passionate, and an interpretation. She wondered how many people had done this and for how long, to make Petyr feel this way. "Have you ever made original pieces?" Sansa asked him.

Petyr looked at her indignantly, "Of course."

Sansa didn't take offense, "Have you sold any?"

Petyr spoke into his mug as he took a big swallow, so nothing come out coherently.

"Could you repeat that?" Sansa genuinely couldn't hear him.

Petyr almost shouted, he was so frustrated, "One or two. Okay you made your point, but what point exactly, I couldn't begin to fathom."

Sansa smiled sympathetically, "How long has it been since you've made something original?"

"...Too long... years," Petyr admitted dejectedly.

His honesty surprised her, and she looked around the room and saw the old piano she used to practice on when she was younger.

Sansa got up from the couch and placed her mug down on the lid gently, not wanting to disturb the papers Petyr had haphazardly left on there.

Her fingers brushed over the ivory keys in reminiscence of how she would do it when she was younger, it needed tuning but it wasn't unbearable. Sansa sat on the stool, she closed her eyes and drifted back to when she would practice one of her favourite pieces.

It started off quite sombre, slowly building, she fingers remembered where to go as she got lost in the story she thought of to go along with the beautiful music: of a man lost in the storm desperately trying to meet his secret love, but he gets stuck. His carriage breaks down, the horses are tired. It was building, emotions were heightened, they were desperate and when he finally made it, he saw she hadn't waited for him.

She left without a note or reason as to why, and he never heard from her again, and all that remained was his anguish and the question of what had happened to her.

When it ended Sansa held back a tear, she never should have played that when she was drinking, alcohol always heightened her emotions. Sansa turned around on the stool and almost forgot she had an audience of one.

Petyr's eyes shone off the reflection in the light from the lamp situated on the table beside him, he was quiet, so quiet in fact one would think he was dead if he wasn't so clearly breathing. He was leaning heavily on his hand, his hand covering his mouth, he had that look again like he was trying to figure her out still.

Sansa looked down at herself embarrassed, "Sorry."

"Mm, don't," Petyr finally moved, sitting up from where he was leaning on the armrest, "don't apologise for that. It was marvellous."

Sansa blushed at his praise, and purposely diverted the conversation back onto him, "So what would you really like to paint, if it could be anything?"

"Truthfully?" Petyr still hadn't taken his eyes off her.

Sansa nodded.

"You," he confessed.

"Good job we're paying you to do that then," Sansa said brazenly.

"Hah!" Petyr sounded muffled by his mug as he brought it to his lips again, he felt irritation at her clear dismissal of him.

When Sansa awoke the second time she felt disorientated at first, than realised she had fallen asleep on the couch in the guest wing. There was a throw rug covering her, that she didn't remember taking before falling asleep.

She sat up yawning and stretching her arms up, and dropped them suddenly embarrassed when she spotted Petyr sitting in the corner of the room with his notebook in his lap, his pencil still poised over the page. "Do you ever sleep?" Sansa asked.

"Sometimes," Petyr answered.

"I should go," Sansa felt the need to say something, even if doing so made her seem more nervous and headed for the door.

"Suit yourself," Petyr shrugged nonchalantly and went back to his drawing.

He worked on the finishing touches of the slipper that had been dangling from the tips of Sansa's toes, that had come dangerously close to falling off as she slept.

Sansa spent most of the day and the next few weeks busying herself with work, she had a few commissions that some ladies had requested. Her sowing kept her hands busy and helped her mind to clear and not focus on the strangely appealing artist occupying her parents guest wing.

They had spoken a few more times, but nothing so scandalous as when she had gone out and visited him in her nightgown.

There was something different about him, that Sansa couldn't quite put her finger on. Petyr intrigued her, and even now she was flattered at the prospect of being immortalized in art.

Sansa wanted to do it, but she couldn't bring herself to muster up the courage to see if the offer was still there.

"Finished yet?" Jeyne, Robb's wife was picking up some groceries and popped her head in the store to see if Sansa needed a ride home.

"Give me a few minutes!" Sansa didn't realise how late it had gotten, and rushed around packing and closing up the store.

As everyone was finishing up their tea Sansa saw someone else packing up, Petyr was seen walking back and forth past the patio doors. "Excuse me," Sansa muttered to no one in particular as she disposed of her napkin on her plate, rising from her place at the table.

"What's all this?" Sansa asked as she followed Petyr who had his arms full.

"I've got another job," Petyr explained as he finished packing up his belongings.

"What about our portrait?" Sansa dreaded this was the last time she would ever see him, and she regretted not going to see him sooner.

"I can mail it once it's complete," Petyr shrugged like it was no big deal.

Sansa went for broke, "Stay."

Petyr finally acknowledged the emotion in Sansa's voice and turned so they were finally face to face.

"Please?" Sansa asked like whisper.

His eyes held the same regret as hers, "There's no reason for me to, is there?" Petyr's hand reached out to Sansa's face, his thumb caressed the apple of her cheek. Sansa's eyes closed at the feel of his delicate touch, her face moving closer into his hand not wanting it to end.

"Paint me," Sansa requested, opening her eyes when she could no longer feel his touch.

Sansa unlocked the backdoor to her store, and lead Petyr up a fight of stairs leading to the free space above. When first she bought it, the place went for cheap because the owners before said it was haunted, which gave Sansa all the more reason to want to own it.

"All this free space, and you're letting it go to waste," Petyr was impressed at the layout.

"You can use this as a studio, and the floor above us you can use for lodgings," Sansa explained how it was practically an apartment with everything fully functioning if he wanted to move in.

"Why in the hell are you still living with your parents if you've got all this?" Petyr still couldn't believe her.

"I like company," Sansa swiftly became shy.

"What a strange enigma you are."

Sansa blushed profusely at Petyr's unusual complement.

"What are you doing?" Sansa asked as she watched as Petyr set up his work station.

"Drawing and painting are two different things, and one takes more time to prep," Petyr told her as he pulled out his canvas, and poured some water into three different jugs from the nearby sink.

Sansa fidgeted on her spot on the sofa, that they had pulled into the centre of the room, "How do you want me?"

"Any way I can have you," Petyr smirked at the innuendo and felt even more smug as Sansa's blush deepened.

The dress Sansa was wearing were off the shoulder slightly, but it kept falling off her left shoulder, her hand raised to fix it again when her breath hitched, when the bristles of Petyr's paintbrush skimmed around her neck.

Sansa hadn't realised how close he was, Petyr had managed to sneak up on her, he was so silent on his feet. "Leave it," Petyr commanded gently.

The next couple of weeks changed entirely for Sansa, she rarely saw her family as she spent most of her days in her store. Than her evenings she would go up stairs to the second floor where Petyr had transformed it into an art studio.

Usually Sansa would spend that time sitting, working, reading or coerced Petyr into conversation. Most of the time he would work so late into the night that Sansa ended up falling asleep on the sofa and wake up in the bed situated on the third floor.

Sansa felt much like she was turning into a mother hen during that time, noticing Petyr's bad habits and made sure they'd stop to eat, and made sure he was washing and asking everyday how much sleep he was getting. To Petyr's detriment he took it all in stride, he put up a front of being putout by it all but Sansa noticed his hidden smiles.

Petyr saw the cover of the book Sansa had chosen for the evening and noticed it to be another gothic tale, "Do you think only true beauty can only come from misery?" Petyr asked as he worked the canvas.

"No," Sansa paused in the reading and answered him honestly.

"Do you think it helps?" He asked.

"For some I'm sure it does," Sansa found her bookmark and closed her book, she was too intrigued with his line of questioning, and wondered if it had anything to do with the long scar across his chest. Sansa had been around him long enough to see him go around shirtless numerous times.

"What if I told you I had a dark past, would that surprise you?" Petyr had stopped painting and brought his colours along with him.

"Honestly, no," Sansa said, looking up at him where Petyr stood right by her knees.

"What if I told I had loving parents?"

"I'd say that's lovely to hear," Sansa couldn't figure him out, "Not all tragedy is caused by family."

Petyr nodded, "True." He held up his colour palette against her face, and frowned.

"What's wrong?" Sansa asked.

"Still not the right shade," Petyr was unhappy.

"Such a perfectionist," Sansa chuckled.

Petyr's paintbrush swiped across her nose, leaving behind a streak of cold paint, making her gasp shocked.

"See, too dark." Petyr laughed, and left another line of paint against her shoulder with the same brush.

Sansa rushed to her feet, leaving Petyr behind as she practically ran upstairs to use the bathroom.

For some unknown reason she felt mortified, she knew they were both acting playfully but that's not where Sansa was hoping it would all lead.

She brushed the unwanted tears away with a damp flannel as well as the swipes of paint. She tore her dress off and turned the water on, pouring herself a bath.

Petyr followed behind and knocked on the door, turned the handle and stepped inside, he was in the midst of an apology when he stopped, seeing the dress pool at Sansa's feet.

Sansa must have forgotten to lock the door and she choked on all her breath, shocked, she couldn't breathe, caught naked.

The breath that was caught in her throat whooshed out when she felt Petyr step up behind her, feeling his front warm her naked back. His close proximity caused her flesh to pimple, but he than stepped around her and turned off the water.

She soon found she was face to face with him, Petyr's eyes were dark and heavy. His hands were cool, they landed against her waist urging her to walk backwards. Sansa was rendered mute, her body followed his silent demands and she kept looking into the depths of his eyes as her body was directed how he wished.

"What--" Sansa tried talking but could barely get her mouth to move.

"Shh, risk it," Petyr's voice was low and gruff.

Sansa let out a surprised squeak when the backs of her legs hit the bed. Petyr pressed for Sansa to sit down, his eyes lowered to her breasts, taking in her nipples that were tight from desire or the cold, or a combination of both before helping her to lay face down. "Stay," He ordered, and went to fetch a few things.

When he came back Sansa's breath hitched again, Petyr had removed his shirt and had some of his paint supplies with him. He managed to step up on the bed without his hands, and sat, straddling Sansa's upper thighs.

Sansa watched as Petyr used an unused paintbrush to brush along the arm she was resting her head on.

"May I paint you?" Petyr asked huskily.

"Ye..yes," Sansa's voice broke with desire.

His hand slowly moved her hair to one side leaving her back completely free.

The brush dipped into the paint and moved over her shoulder moving down her spine, it made Sansa's skin tingle and with every stroke, she felt like moaning.

Her fists clenched into the bedding like Petyr was making love to her. In a way he was, Petyr was sharing a part of himself with her, a part he derived passion from.

Sansa was his canvas, it was intimate, and beautiful, and Sansa loved every second of it.

When a brush stroke moved down her hip towards her inner thigh close to where she was dripping with desire, Sansa let loose a wanton cry.

Petyr leant down, momentarily pausing in his work, he placed a fervent kiss close to where he had just finished painting.

Sansa moaned louder at the touch of his lips, her hips thrust up seeking more.

Petyr than carried on with his masterpiece, working down her legs.

What felt like a few more breathtaking desirable torturous hours later Petyr spoke, "The great thing about being payed a small fortune to paint a bunch of pompous stuck up snobs, yours truly excluded of course, I can afford just about anything," He got up from the bed and Sansa saw the front of his pants were tented with his own proof of arousal.

"This won't take long," Petyr said.

Sansa turned looking over one shoulder to see Petyr had set up a camera, "Stay just like that," Petyr urged desperately.

Sansa complied, it was easy staying in that position having been practically immobile all evening, and when it was over the paint had dried immeasurably.

Sansa rolled over when Petyr approached the bed kneeling over her on one knee, she groaned in frustration when he leant down but stopped right before their lips could touch.

"Patience," Petyr breathed against her lips.

"I have been," Sansa protested.

"Don't you want to know what I painted?" He asked.

Sansa searched his cunning eyes for any clues, "What did you paint?"

Petyr's lips covered hers suddenly, making them both moan into each others mouths. Petyr's tongue sort entry to her mouth, which she granted. It didn't bother her a bit when his paint stained hands threaded through the long locks of her hair as he sort to be even closer to her.

Sansa's hands clutched at the muscles of Petyr's back, seeking to anchor herself somehow. When they broke apart for air, they panted into each others mouths. Petyr kissed the corner of Sansa's mouth briefly than finally answered her question, "You."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments always welcomed


End file.
